


a tree and a bee and a flea, fiddle-dee-dee

by Signe (oxoniensis)



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: 5000-10000 Words, First Time, Genderswap, Humor, M/M, Magic, Public Sex, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxoniensis/pseuds/Signe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a princess.  And other things he doesn't appreciate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a tree and a bee and a flea, fiddle-dee-dee

**Author's Note:**

> For a-fallen-sister. Beta thanks to luzdeestrellas. Cover by Goss and scene illustration by barbitone. First published February 2009. No spoilers beyond the pilot episode.

  


  


i. _a rat and a flea_

"We're going to die."

Merlin makes it sound like an accusation.

There's a damp patch behind Arthur's back, and it feels like every straw underneath him is poking straight up through his britches. He's uncomfortable. And miserable. And hungry. They've been locked up for two days now without food or water. They haven't even seen a single one of the bandits since they were thrown in the cell. And Merlin smells.

Arthur's not feeling charitable. "Oh, don't be so stupid, Merlin."

"We're going to die, and it's all your fault."

That is the most ridiculous thing Merlin's said today. Arthur shouldn't even dignify it with a response. "Is not," he says though, as if he's ten years old and arguing with Morgana. He's not sure what it is about Merlin and Morgana, that they bring out the, well, less princely side of him.

"Is so," Merlin mutters, sounding ridiculously sulky, and Arthur would laugh at him if he weren't so damn cold and miserable.

"Is not." Not his finest argument, but then this isn't his finest moment.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Merlin snaps. "It's obvious that no one's going to let us out, and they're not even going to feed us, and dying of starvation isn't going to be fun. And don't tell me you're not hungry because I can hear your stomach growling. It sounds ridiculous, by the way." (Arthur thinks that's quite uncalled for, considering the noises Merlin made in the night.) "So we _are_ going to die here if you don't let me get us out. _My_ way, this time."

Arthur glares. "My way might have worked."

There's not as much conviction behind his words as he'd like. It's true, he was a little optimistic trying to take out all six guards when they were being led to the cell, especially as they'd already taken his weapons, but he had to at least try. It's just unfortunate that they both got hit on the head and knocked out thanks to Arthur's efforts — he doesn't think Merlin's forgiven him for the headache yet.

"We do it my way," Merlin reiterates. He definitely hasn't forgiven Arthur for the headache.

"Very well, but I'm letting you do this under protest. I want you to know that."

"Duly noted. I'll write it down, shall I? Arthur objects to me using magic to save his arse." Merlin mimes writing on invisible paper. Then he leans back and looks as though he's going to sleep again.

Arthur taps his fingers against his manacles — it helps him think, and has the bonus of making Merlin grit his teeth in irritation. Their options are limited, the way he sees it. Even if Merlin opens the cell with magic (and Arthur's seen him do enough magic to know that's no problem for Merlin), they'd still have to get past however many guards there are between them and freedom. And it's not as though the chief bandit had given them a tour of his fortress before throwing them down here.

"Well, if you're going to do something, get on with it," Arthur prompts, in case Merlin really is about to fall asleep.

"Okay, hold your horses," Merlin says. "I just need to think a bit."

Arthur is very restrained. After all, he's spent the last two days in a cell with Merlin and hasn't killed him yet. "I just need to think a bit," he mimics. "Some great sorcerer you are."

"Okay, I have an idea."

Arthur waits to hear the idea. And waits. "Well, spit it out," he says eventually. "I'd rather get out of here _before_ I die of starvation."

Merlin bites his lip and hesitates. Never a good sign. "You're not going to like it."

"Of course I'm not going to like it. It's one of your ideas, and I never like them. But you're going to tell me anyway, so get it over with."

"I can turn us into rats, and we can sneak out through the bars. If we stick to the shadows, no one will notice us."

Arthur nearly chokes in horror. "You are _not_ turning me into a rat, Merlin."

"But—"

"No. And that is an order."

"B—"

"I mean it, Merlin. Don't even think of doing it while I've got my back turned. I am not going to be a rat."

"Okay," Merlin says quietly. Too quietly.

Arthur's always suspicious when Merlin's quiet, or when he gives in easily. With any other servant that would be normal behaviour, but then Merlin's not just any servant. He watches Merlin carefully, just in case he's planning to disobey a direct order. It wouldn't be the first time, after all. Or the second, or the third. Arthur grins ruefully to himself. Merlin just sits and smiles at him, and eventually Arthur has to look away because it's just weird watching Merlin smiling at him.

By the time he hears Merlin muttering something that sounds like a spell, it's too late to do anything.

*

Arthur is jumpy for days afterwards. Literally. He's not entirely sure Merlin changed him back properly, though Merlin insists he has, and Arthur can't actually _see_ any flea-like traits when he checks himself out in the mirror. It's not like he can ask anyone else though — if Morgana ever heard of this, he'd have to kill himself.

"It was totally uncalled for," he tells Merlin, repeatedly, even though he knows he's wasting his breath.

"I got us both out safely. I don't know what you're complaining about," Merlin says haughtily. As though Arthur ought to be grateful. Which, considering it was Merlin's stupidity that got them caught by the bandits in the first place, is more than a bit rich.

"You turned me into a _flea_."

"Yes, and I was the one who had to put up with you crawling all over me."

"I got stuck inside your ear, Merlin. You can't imagine how traumatic that was." Arthur is thoroughly disgusted. He doesn't even like to think about what was in Merlin's ear.

"Yes, well, it wasn't much fun for me either. You made me itchy, and I couldn't even scratch myself in case I knocked you off or killed you by accident." Merlin mutters something else after that — Arthur thinks it's _I wish I had_, but he chooses to ignore it.

"You might have thought of that before turning me into a flea."

"Yes, well, you said I couldn't turn you into a rat—"

"I didn't mean turn me into something _worse_."

"You'll just have to be more specific in future."

Arguing with Merlin has to be the most frustrating experience of Arthur's life.

_ii. the princess marie_

"No, Merlin, I am _not_ going to be the princess."

"But you always say that I've got no sense of court manners," Merlin points out, "and there's no way I could pull it off. You, however, would make an excellent princess." Merlin copies the smug grin that Arthur's always using on him — it feels good using it on Arthur for a change.

Arthur _is_ the princess, of course. It's the obvious solution, and however stubborn Arthur is — which is incredibly stubborn at times — he has to give way when Merlin's reasoning is clearly right. He just likes to argue for ages before giving in, even having the cheek to insist that Merlin is girlier. Merlin thinks it's just because he's humiliated at the idea of having Merlin as his bodyguard. Which is absurd, because Arthur knows how powerful Merlin's magic is, better than anyone else.

"You'll need a new name," Merlin points out gleefully, once Arthur is standing there awkwardly, long blonde hair falling over his shoulders, fiddling with the skirt of his dress. He wants to suggest Princess Buttercup, or Blossom, or something equally flowery, but he thinks maybe that would be pushing it.

"I have a name," Arthur says indignantly.

"You can't be Princess Arthur."

"Why not?" Arthur asks, and now he just sounds petulant.

Merlin can sympathise a little — not from experience, of course, because he's never been a woman, but he can imagine it would be traumatic, having his bits removed. And even though Merlin's assured him it's temporary and won't affect his future, ahem, performance, he can see the nervousness on Arthur's face, even more obvious now Arthur's so much more delicate looking. Delicate and softer and incredibly beautiful, actually, which is a thought Merlin doesn't need to be having.

Merlin sighs. "Because that wouldn't be suspicious at all. You can be Princess—" He pauses a moment, discarding Lily and Lavender and Rose. "Princess Marie. That's a good name."

"In that case, you're going to be called—Dungo."

Merlin raises his eyebrows but doesn't protest the name. If it makes Arthur more agreeable, he can call Merlin whatever he likes.

Arthur's casting surreptitious glances into the river, the nearest thing they have to a mirror. He seems intrigued by his new appearance, running his fingers through his hair, touching his nose — much daintier — cupping his breasts, then looking horrified with himself.

"Do you want me to give you some time alone?" Merlin asks.

Arthur glares. The power of it hasn't been completely destroyed by his new womanly appearance. "You're going to have to braid my hair," he orders.

"What?"

"If it comes to a fight, I don't want my hair getting in the way. Besides, it's far too plain like this for a princess. So, braid it."

"I'm not a lady's maid," Merlin protests. "I don't know _how_ to braid hair." Arthur's obviously enjoying Merlin's dismay.

"Yes, well, you should have learned," Arthur says, clearly not caring in the least that there's no reason Merlin should ever have learned to braid hair. "A manservant should be prepared for any eventuality."

"Like his prince suddenly having waist length hair?" Merlin asks.

"Exactly. Come on now, we don't have all day. Dungo," Arthur adds.

Very well, if Arthur wants braids, he can have braids. He can have perfect, flawless braids in an instant. Merlin knows a spell he can adapt, so he says it quietly, without warning. Then watches Arthur whipping his head from side to side, slapping himself in the face with one plait, then turning back and getting slapped in the face with the other.

"A little warning would be nice," Arthur says ungratefully. "And I hope they're tidy."

"I've braided red ribbons into them," Merlin informs him. Then, because he can never leave well alone, adds, "You look very pretty." He really didn't mean to say that, even though it's actually an understatement. Arthur looks beautiful. "I, um—" he starts, then just shrugs helplessly.

*

Getting rescued is easy. Despite Arthur's — sorry, Princess Marie's — constant attempts to rescue herself. He — she — oh, bugger it, Merlin has to call him 'he' in his head at least — makes the worst damsel in distress ever. Merlin's pretty sure he's aware of this, as he keeps reminding Merlin that he's the worst bodyguard ever. Even though they both know that's patently untrue. Still, if it makes Arthur feel better to complain about Merlin all day, Merlin can let him have that. After all, Merlin does understand that a sudden gender change could be quite disconcerting, even if it's planned.

So, Arthur flutters around, his hand twitching constantly — Merlin knows it's because he keeps reaching for his non-existent sword, but it actually just makes him look twitchy and nervous — and the party of knights from Hereford castle — the seat of Magonsaete — rescue them from a monster that's actually nothing more than magical noises Merlin projects into the undergrowth. He adds a breeze to whip up the brambles, and it all looks pretty convincing. Merlin then simply looks abashed at having failed his princess, and Arthur manages to look coy (once Merlin's nudged him twice and muttered to him to keep looking down and remember he's a lady and _don't swear_.)

Arthur's welcomed at the court of Magonsaete with open arms.

"It's no wonder. Have you seen the noblewomen here? Half of them are missing teeth, two of them look like they've got a permanent case of the pox, and the rest aren't anything special. I'm the best looking woman they've seen in ages," Arthur says when he gets a moment alone with Merlin.

Merlin's storing that little gem up for a future date. He wishes he had some way of capturing the sound, so he could replay it over and over. That would be magnificent magic. In the meantime, "You'd better watch out for your virtue," he says. "Such as it is."

Arthur huffs, hand on his hip. "I'll have you know that the Princess Marie is a maiden."

  
[](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/post/28228781257/illustration-of-a-scene-from-a-tree-and-a-bee-and)  
click preview for the full image

It's scary, really, how quickly Arthur's gone from flat out refusing to be a woman, to being the least feminine woman Merlin's seen, to being—Morgana. Merlin bites down a laugh when he realises that Arthur's portrayal of Princess Marie is basically a blonde Morgana. A Morgana playing at being helpless.

"Yes, well, just make sure you don't get so caught up in your maidenly flirting that you forget why we're here."

There's a flash in Arthur's eyes at that, and Merlin regrets the comment instantly. He knows Arthur wouldn't forget. They're here to find out if King Mildfrith of Magonsaete really is planning on going to war with Camelot — they've heard rumours, but they're too conflicted and their sources too unreliable to trust, so Arthur's come personally. "I'm sorry," Merlin says, and then deliberately changes the mood. "Hadn't you better be getting to your chambers to change for tonight's banquet? I'm sure the maidservant King Mildfrith's appointed to you will be waiting. And you know how long women take to dress."

"I hope the straw in the stables is full of fleas," Arthur says in retaliation. "Large, hungry fleas."

Merlin just smiles. The stable _is_ full of fleas, but a quick spell and his little area of the loft above the stable was flea-free, and really quite comfortable. And he'd sleep in the stables any day rather than have to be a woman. He definitely got the better deal.

*

Merlin spends most of the banquet wincing. He's seen both Morgana and Gwen staving off unwanted attention, but watching Arthur being groped and fondled and propositioned is entirely different, somehow. Merlin wants to jump in and rescue him, and he very nearly climbs over the table and stabs Prince Merchelm with his knife after the oaf has the nerve to 'accidentally' stick his face on Arthur's chest. From the look on Arthur's face, Merlin's not the only one who wants to stab Prince Merchelm. Merlin tries to look sympathetic, and hopes Arthur doesn't do anything too rash.

Merlin escorts Arthur back to his chamber after the banquet, and, once they're in an empty corridor, asks quietly how the information gathering went.

"Remind me never to get so drunk I start blabbing secrets," Arthur says, sounding truly disgusted.

To be fair to him, Merlin can't imagine him ever doing that, drunk or not. He gropped Merlin once, when he was drunk, but Merlin put him to bed and they never spoke of it after — Merlin's not even sure Arthur remembers. But he's never seen Arthur be indiscreet in any way that would affect Camelot, even when he's been so drunk he can barely stand.

He doesn't say that, though. "So the prince dropped enough hints for you to get all you need?"

"Not just hints. A few ales, and he told me everything. Prince Murky," Arthur says with disdain, "has designs on Camelot, but, even though he's as dumb as a goose, he knows his father will never risk going to war with us."

"So while the king is alive—"

"The kingdom of Magonsaete won't ride up against Camelot. Which my father will be pleased to hear. And the prince is such an idiot, once he's king, the land will be anyone's for the taking."

Merlin leaves Arthur at his chamber — it wouldn't be good to be seen going inside with him — and heads back to the stable.

*

"Wake up."

There's someone hissing in Merlin's ear, a female someone, and he's being shaken, and he was right in the middle of a very pleasing dream about kissing Ar—Merlin splutters and wakes up properly.

The female someone, is, of course, Arthur. Who is apparently so desperate to leave that he's crept out of the castle in the middle of the night, carrying his own saddlebags, and somehow managed to sneak into the stable without being seen. Merlin hopes he wasn't seen, anyway.

"We're leaving. Now," Arthur tells him.

Merlin stretches and rubs his eyes, and stumbles to his feet.

The moment they're out of sight of Hereford castle, Arthur jumps off his horse. "Turn me back _now_," he says, and damn it Merlin did far too good a job of turning him into a woman because Arthur's got tears in his eyes and looks all emotional. Next time Merlin will have to remember to change Arthur just enough to make him _look_ like a woman, not actually _be_ one.

Not that he imagines he'd have an easy job persuading Arthur to go through it again, whatever the reason. A shame, really. Merlin dismounts slowly and looks at Arthur for a while. He can admit to himself that he likes the way Arthur looks, but there's something about him as a woman that makes Merlin want to remember him like this. Maybe it's the fact that Arthur trusted him enough to go along with the plan, or maybe it's the cute little nose. Though right now, even moonlight is enough to tell Merlin that the blood's draining from Arthur's face and he looks as though he's about to go into fully fledged panic mode.

"You can turn me back, right? Merlin?"

"Oh, yes, that's no problem," Merlin says airily, but he still can't help staring at Arthur a little longer.

"Well do so then," Arthur says. He's not shouting, but he sounds as though he'll do something drastic if Merlin doesn't transform him soon. Which, naturally, makes Merlin want to drag it out just a little longer.

"It's just a bit of a shame, that's all. You do look quite—"

"If you finish that sentence, I won't be the only one missing his balls," Arthur says. His tone is calm, but his eyes definitely aren't.

"You're a bit tetchy, aren't you?" Merlin counters, but when Arthur moves towards him, he decides he'd better not push his luck any further. A few muttered words, and Arthur's doubled over, looking as though he's in agony. He falls to his knees, and Merlin can see him changing. It's slow, far slower than the original spell, and Merlin wishes he could do something to make it faster, to take away the pain, but he can't think of anything so he just kneels down beside Arthur and holds him until he feels him go limp and lose consciousness.

Merlin's trembling. The rational part of him knows the spell worked perfectly — he's holding Arthur in his arms now, not Princess Marie — but he needs Arthur to wake up and tell him he's all right.

"Arthur? _Arthur_?"

Arthur opens his eyes and groans, then pushes Merlin away, looking around puzzled. Merlin can tell the exact moment Arthur remembers — he reaches down and cups his groin, heaving a sigh of relief when he presumably finds everything back in place. He pats his chest and looks down at himself, then gets to his feet a little unsteadily. He doesn't brush away Merlin's helping hand, just dusts himself off and looks Merlin in the face.

"If you ever speak a word of this to anyone, I shall light the fire myself."

Merlin just grins. Arthur really needs to come up with some better threats. Ones that Merlin thinks he might actually carry through.

"At least I can always picture you as a princess now. A pretty princess. Anytime I want."

_iii. a tree and a bee_

Arthur hates to admit it, but he quite likes hunting with just Merlin for company. He doesn't have to put on a show, doesn't even have to talk if he doesn't feel like it. Their silences are comfortable — not that they last long, not when Merlin's around. He can talk the hind leg off a donkey. It doesn't bother Arthur though, because Merlin's just treating him like a friend, like Arthur, not the crown prince of Camelot. And Arthur enjoys that.

There's a downside, of course. There usually is a downside to everything when Merlin's involved. Today the downside is getting so engrossed in a silly tale Merlin's telling him about a miller, a fellmonger and a wizard walking into an inn, that he doesn't notice they've walked into danger until they're in the middle of it.

They both freeze at the same time when they hear the voices. Voices all around them, and the clank of iron too. Arthur hasn't sent any of his men out on patrol in this area, so the chances that they're friendly are remote. He motions to Merlin to dismount quietly, and thankfully either Merlin's become better at reading signals or he's worked out that they need to keep low.

The voices are getting closer though, and Arthur can't even begin to count how many men he can hear. More than enough. He draws his sword, but this is going to be difficult, even for him. He motions to Merlin to hide — if he can keep all the attention on himself, Merlin might have a chance at escape.

Merlin, the idiot, just rolls his eyes and ignores him. So much for thinking Merlin's better at reading what Arthur wants him to do.

Arthur risks whispering at Merlin. They're going to be seen any moment, anyway, so it won't make much difference. "Hide," he hisses.

Merlin shakes his head, and Arthur could throttle him. Very well, if Merlin wants to get himself killed, Arthur will let him. Arthur will watch it and enjoy it. He's about to say as much when Merlin starts muttering, and then Arthur curses himself silently, because of course, Merlin's going to go and save the day by magic. Arthur still hasn't fully grown accustomed to the idea that he can do that, that Merlin's so powerful he can do almost anything, that when they're out and they get into danger, Arthur's not always going to be the one to save them. He's just processing the idea that he's uncomfortable with that when his feet start to feel strange. He looks down, and his feet are—growing into the ground.

"Merlin, what the hell?" Arthur asks, because he'd assumed Merlin was going to get them out of here somehow, not trap them.

Merlin just smiles. "Trust me," he says, and damn it all, but Arthur does trust him. So he doesn't try to move, just stands there and watches his feet grow roots, and then feels himself grow, taller and taller, and his arms split into branches.

*

There's something oddly peaceful about being [a tree](http://goss.livejournal.com/283959.html). Being rooted to the earth, branches fanning out and his leaves soaking up all the glorious sunshine. He can feel the wind whispering through him: he's a part of nature in a way he's never been before.

There's a bee buzzing around him, landing and taking off like an over-excited child, blundering into his leaves. It doesn't trouble him.

*

He has no idea how long he's a tree. He's aware of little else besides the wind and the sun and the insects crawling over him. He can't see or hear, and he finds it doesn't matter. He's a tree, he's not going anywhere. Everything he needs comes to him.

He remembers, vaguely, that there was danger. He knows he was human, once, less than one cycle of the sun ago. But there's no urgency to anything, and he feels no need to be a man again.

*

Arthur stretches experimentally. He feels exceedingly stiff, worse than he ever has at the end of any tournament. He looks at the horses with a sigh. He's not sure he can get back on one. He's not sure he can do anything much that involves movement, not for a while, so he leans against a tree and puts it off. He's come to learn that the side effects of Merlin's magic fade with time, so if he procrastinates a while, he might not have to ask Merlin for help in getting back on his horse.

"So, um, how much do you remember about what happened?" Merlin asks, and that immediately makes Arthur suspicious.

"Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Merlin says breezily.

Even more suspicious.

"Tell me exactly what happened," Arthur orders. "And remember, I can always tell when you're lying. You're a shitty liar."

Merlin looks mildly offended. And also mildly constipated, but Arthur's pretty sure that's just his thinking expression. "Well," he starts.

"I can tell when you're planning to lie, too," Arthur points out helpfully.

Merlin mutters something under his breath. Arthur thinks it's probably a good thing he doesn't catch it. "It all worked perfectly," Merlin says.

"Details, Merlin. I want details."

"I turned you into a tree," Merlin says, running the words together quickly as though that'll make them sound any better.

"A tree?"

"Yes."

"And while I was a tree, what were you?"

"A bee. And I turned the horses into poisonous mushrooms so no one would touch them." Merlin sounds incredibly proud of himself.

"And while I was a tree, what about the bandits we heard?"

"Oh, they weren't bandits at all. Just villagers, out trapping rabbits and collecting firewood," Merlin says happily, and then winces at the exact same moment that Arthur winces.

"Firewood, huh? And you turned me into a tree."

"Um—"

"So they had axes with them?"

Merlin looks everywhere but at Arthur, and nods reluctantly.

"They could have chopped me down for firewood. Did you think of that, hey, did you?"

"Um, well."

"How would you have liked it, stuck there, a tree, unable to move, while men with axes — _axes_, Merlin — are heading towards you?"

"I wouldn't have let them do anything," Merlin says reassuringly, as though he's talking to a child not his prince. Arthur hasn't been spoken to like that since he could walk. He glares.

"How would you have stopped them? Stung them?" Arthur's aware his voice is getting higher, but he doesn't care. He could have been tinder for the fire, and it's all that damn Merlin's fault. "Why didn't you turn me into something useful? I mean, you could have turned us both into dragons — you could, couldn't you?"

Merlin thinks a moment. "Yeah, I think so."

"Well, then, why on earth didn't you?"

"There wasn't a lot of thinking time, you know. And I was going for subterfuge rather than attack. Besides, I don't know why you're so grumpy. It worked perfectly well."

"I'm stiff." Arthur doesn't really want to have to admit it, but he can barely move. And when the breeze picks up a bit, he finds himself swaying in it. It's disconcerting, and makes him feel a bit dizzy when he realises what's happening.

"Oh, sorry. Do you want a, um, massage, or something?"

The idea is tempting. Very tempting. But ever since the evening he behaved a little foolishly towards Merlin when he'd had an ale or two too many, and Merlin pretended as though nothing had happened afterward, he's tried to keep his distance. A massage wouldn't be a good idea.

He shakes his head resolutely. " Don't you have any after effects?"

"No," Merlin says with a brilliant grin.

"Why is it that I'm always the one who's left feeling the effects afterwards?"

"I did apologise about your—you know, parts—" Merlin says, motioning awkwardly towards Arthur's groin. "And I returned everything back to normal afterwards. Everything is back to normal, right?" Merlin adds, looking a little worried.

Arthur narrows his eyes. "Yes, it is, but I told you we were never going to speak of that again. And I also distinctly mentioned you never doing anything that involved ridding me of important parts. Will you never learn?"

Merlin shrugs happily. "Probably not."

_iv. a portrait of me, a portrait of thee_

"What exactly are you hoping to find?" Merlin whispers, turning his head back inside the room. He watches Arthur searching the visiting physician's trunk, picking through every single item. He even looks suspiciously at a hair brush, even though it looks like any other hairbrush Merlin's ever seen.

"I don't know, Merlin. If I knew what it was, I wouldn't have to search everything, would I?" Arthur sounds like he's grinding his teeth, which is generally a bad sign for Merlin. Then he looks up and glares. "Merlin, you're supposed to be keeping a lookout, not watching me," he hisses.

"I can do both," Merlin says confidently. The corridor is empty, and he's sure to hear anyone coming from a distance. Besides, Malcolm — the physician — is currently being entertained by Gaius, at Arthur's request, and when Merlin left them they were talking non-stop and with great enthusiasm about methods for removing warts. It was disgusting, but the point is that they'll be at it for hours, which means there's very little need for him to be stuck in the doorway on lookout. And he's bored. Annoying Arthur is the least he should be allowed to do. "You must have some idea of what you're looking for, or how will you know when you find it?"

"I just will, okay, Merlin." Arthur bends over the trunk a little further — and oh, the temptation Merlin feels to use his magic and give a little shove — and then exclaims. "Aha." He pulls out a few twisted stems of barley.

"Wow, you're right, he clearly is dangerous. Keeping barley in his trunk, that's a very bad thing. He might be planning to stab the king with it, or poison someone with barley cakes." Merlin doesn't bother to refrain from rolling his eyes or using every ounce of sarcasm he can summon.

"It's a doll," Arthur says. "And it's been pulled apart — he's using magic to hurt someone."

"You've lost it," Merlin says, abandoning his post and taking the ears of barley out of Arthur's hand. "That's not a doll; it's just a little good luck charm."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because old Bessie sells them in the market. Gwen has one, and so do half the people in the castle."

"Oh."

"He's not a sorcerer, Arthur. And he's not trying to kill anyone. He's genuinely here to learn from Gaius," Merlin promises.

"I just need to be sure, that's all. There's something suspicious about him — I'm sure he's lying about something or keeping something secret, and I need to know what it is," Arthur says, unusually open for him. Then he cocks his head. "Do you hear footsteps?"

Merlin listens. "Oh, bugger," he says, and runs to the door. He peeks out quickly then pulls his head back in even more quickly and looks at Arthur. "Don't kill me, but it's possible that Malcolm is in the corridor, and about to walk back into his room."

"You idiot."

"It's okay, I can hide us."

Arthur's face falls. "Don't you dare turn me into—" he starts, and then his voice fades.

Merlin smiles to himself. He's been longing to try out this spell — he wasn't sure it would work — but it's turned out perfectly. He looks across the room to Arthur, who's looking thoroughly bemused. Yes, perfectly.

*

The physician wanders in, whistling contentedly. He sounds as though he enjoyed his conversation about warts. Merlin's just glad he wasn't the one subjected to it. He also hopes Gaius didn't offer any food — if Malcolm has to go out for food, they'll be able to escape. If he's settling in for the night, they'll be stuck here until he falls asleep, and Merlin doesn't think Arthur will appreciate that. Not in his current state.

Uther's portrait glares at him. Merlin's fairly sure the portrait has always glared, even before Merlin put Arthur in it, but he thinks there's an added edge to the glare now that's all Arthur. Not that Uther doesn't have a good selection of glares — he does, and Merlin's seen all of them — but Arthur's got some special ones of his own. Merlin thinks he's probably seen all of those too. Most of them directed at him.

There's a light tap at the door. Malcolm looks up from his trunk and smiles, pleased. He's obviously expecting company. Merlin would groan if he could.

His desire to groan is magnified ten fold when Malcolm opens the door and his guest enters. It's Morgana, and for a moment Merlin hopes it's just a courtesy visit, but then Malcolm takes Morgana into his arms and starts kissing her, and oh, Merlin has never regretted a spell as much as he does now.

It only gets worse. This isn't some chaste first kiss he's forced to watch. It's too long and too familiar, and far too hot. Merlin is squirming inside, and he can only imagine how Arthur's feeling about this. Damn it, Arthur's going to blame all this on him, even though it's entirely Arthur's fault that they're in the room in the first place.

Merlin tries closing his eyes, but he can't. He could have turned the two of them into moving portraits, of course, but he'd thought that might be a bit risky — if Arthur had been moving around in his portrait, Malcolm might have noticed. But now Merlin would give anything to be able to close his eyes, because Morgana's getting naked, and there's far too much skin on view and Merlin can't do anything to avoid seeing it. He tries reciting lessons to himself as a distraction, staring out ahead and trying to stay unfocussed so he doesn't actually see when Morgana's completely naked and pressed up against the pillar in the middle of the room and Malcolm's pushing into her, and he just chants louder to himself as Morgana's moans get louder.

Arthur is going to kill him.

Correction. Arthur is going to kill him slowly and painfully and gloat over his dying body.

Morgana dresses quickly afterwards, to Merlin's relief. He's not sure he would have been able to deal with much more of this.

"I fear the king won't approve of our relationship," Malcolm says, kissing Morgana yet again, and handing her a ribbon that had fallen on the floor.

"He has no need to know," Morgana assures him. She braids her hair competently, and Merlin's impressed that she manages to look so collected and pristine after—well, after.

"What about Arthur? What if he finds out?" Malcolm asks, sounding nervous.

"Oh, don't worry about Arthur. I can handle him," Morgana says blithely, and Merlin winces inside. Arthur is _not_ going to appreciate that. Merlin can't even bring himself to look at Arthur — it makes it all even worse, somehow, not just having had to watch it himself, but knowing Arthur's seen everything too.

*

They leave eventually, Morgana slipping out first, and Malcolm following a few minutes later.

Merlin has a moment of debating whether or not to restore Arthur. At least if he leaves him in the portrait, Merlin's life is safe. He looks up at Arthur, who's still glaring from Uther's face.

Merlin says the necessary words inside his head to free them both.

"I hate you," are Arthur's first words. His voice sounds slightly scratchy.

Merlin tries to come up with a defence, but the only thing he's got is that it's Arthur's fault they were in the room in the first place, and he doesn't think it's the right time to mention that.

"You are not only the worst manservant ever, you're the worst sorcerer," Arthur declares. "Couldn't you have at least put me in my own portrait, not my father's?"

Merlin suspects Arthur's avoiding the main issue.

"There wasn't really a lot of thinking time," Merlin points out. Which is true. And it wasn't deliberate, not really. Not exactly. It was just that the thought of turning himself into Uther's portrait was just too peculiar, whereas the thought of turning himself into Arthur's was oddly intriguing. Which is something he isn't going to think about, and definitely isn't going to admit. So he changes the subject. "So, about Morgana—" he starts.

Arthur pulls himself up straight and puts on what Merlin thinks of as his officious face. "We never discuss that. We never saw anything. Morgana is a lady, no matter what—She's a lady, that's all we need to remember."

Merlin nods, oddly touched by Arthur's protection of Morgana's virtue. He'd half expected Arthur to slyly allude to it in front of Morgana, or in some way try to embarrass her, and now he feels a trifle ashamed that he'd even considered that Arthur might do that. Arthur might be a prat, but he's a gentleman too.

_v. and then we run free_

"I've got a plan," Merlin says, and Arthur groans. "Oy, there's no need to be like that," Merlin says, as though Arthur doesn't have the perfect right to groan at the thought of Merlin having a plan. Bad things happen when Merlin has plans or ideas. Or actually, when Merlin is anywhere around.

Arthur waits for Merlin to carry on and tell him the plan, but he doesn't. He doesn't say anything, just hangs his head a fraction and looks disappointed. Which is probably a ploy to make Arthur ask — in fact, Arthur's sure it is, and he wouldn't give in and ask, except—he can't help himself. "What's the plan?" he asks, as wearily and uninterested as he can manage.

Merlin comes straight back to life. "I can't tell you," he says, "but I guarantee you'll like it."

"Can't tell or won't?"

Merlin grins. "Won't."

Arthur can play along. With his rules. "If I don't like it, you have to take whatever punishment I decide on without complaint."

"No problem."

Arthur's insane. He agrees to the plan, without even knowing what it is.

*

The plan, apparently, involves them walking. A lot. "Why aren't we riding, Merlin?" Arthur asks when Camelot is barely in sight any more and there've been no more clues as to why Merlin looks so pleased with himself.

"You'll see, soon enough," Merlin says, and walks a bit faster. "In fact," he says, pausing and looking around the hilly slope they're standing on, "I think this will do nicely."

"We're in the middle of nowhere," Arthur says, and he knows he's stating the obvious, but really. Merlin's lost it this time.

"Exactly. That's the whole point," Merlin says, and he sounds proud of himself. "Okay, you might want to strip now."

"Strip?" Arthur echoes stupidly. They're out in the open, and while it's not cold, it's not roasting sunshine either, and Merlin's suggesting he strips. Not just suggesting it, but doing so himself.

"It's only a precaution. I can turn clothes back, but they might not be the same afterwards, not this time—" he says ambiguously.

And heaven help him, Arthur goes along with it. He probably deserves to have his head examined — maybe he's had a knock on the head and all the time since Merlin arrived in Camelot is just one long, crazy dream? — but he strips off and leaves his clothes in a heap on the grass.

"Ready?" Merlin asks, stark naked in front of him. Arthur doesn't look. Much. Though he does notice that Merlin has a fine body underneath those awful tunics he always wears. He lifts his eyes up hurridly.

"Hurry up, Merlin," Arthur says, and then he's growing. He has a moment's horror at the idea Merlin might have decided to turn him into a tree again, but he's falling forward and he's got hooves, and he's—strong. So strong and he feels like he could run forever. He turns his head, and Merlin's beside him. He knows it's Merlin, the black stallion next to him, even without the wink and whinny.

He runs. He runs across the grassland and jumps streams and keeps running, Merlin pacing beside him all the time. He doesn't pause until he can feel the sweat dripping off his coat, and then he slows down and trots to a stream. Water has never tasted so amazing, and he looks at the grass and that looks more tempting than anything he's ever eaten, so he starts to graze.

He lifts his head and whickers when he's finished. He's going to run again, and Merlin wants the same too, he can see it in his eyes, the same eagerness Arthur feels. So they run, faster than Arthur's ever been before — no horse in his stable can run this fast carrying a man — and for a while Arthur can think of nothing but the speed, the wind in his mane, the ground rushing by under his hooves.

They slow eventually, and Merlin turns around and motions his head back in the direction of Camelot. For the first time, Arthur doesn't want to go back, would rather stay out here like this forever, free and unencumbered, no duties, but Merlin nudges up beside him, and it's enough of a reminder. They canter back, a comfortable pace, and Arthur doesn't let himself slow down as they get closer to home.

When they reach the twin bundles of clothing they halt. Arthur's almost relieved he can't speak — he doesn't want to say anything foolish like _don't turn us back_. As soon as he's human again, though, he does say something foolish.

"That was perfect," he admits, and if it weren't for the look of joy on Merlin's face, he'd bite his tongue and wish he'd never spoken.

"Told you I had a good plan," Merlin says smugly, because the little bastard can never resist the chance to gloat. Arthur can't let him get away with that. He doesn't signal his move in any way, so Merlin's down, flat on his face in a second, Arthur rubbing his face in the ground.

"This is for all the plans that were _awful_, which, for the record, is most of them," Arthur tells him.

"Um, Arthur," Merlin says, and sort of wriggles slightly under him, and that's when Arthur realises he's tackled Merlin stark bollocks naked, and he's pressing himself into Merlin in far too intimate a manner.

"Yes, well, let this be a lesson for you," Arthur says with all the dignity he can muster considering he's half hard and naked and the feel of his prick in the cleft of Merlin's arse is probably even better than the feel of galloping across hills and valleys.

"A lesson?" Merlin asks, turning his head and trying to look at Arthur, because he can never let well alone.

"Yes," Arthur replies, ignoring the fact that he has no idea what the lesson is any more.

"Okay," Merlin says, and doesn't move.

And because Arthur's spent too much time with Merlin and has clearly caught his unfortunate habit of blurting things out, Arthur asks, "So, was getting us both naked part of the plan?"

"Not really," Merlin replies.

"Oh." This is ridiculous. He is not disappointed. He's going to get up and get dressed and forget about today.

"But it would have been an even better plan, if I had planned it, wouldn't it?" Merlin asks, starting off all cocky confidence and ending the question sounding quite uncertain. It's almost endearing.

Arthur can be magnanimous. It's a good quality in a future king. "It wouldn't have been a bad plan," he admits, carelessly. And moves a little — not off Merlin, just moving his hips a fraction, pressing down a little.

Merlin moans. "A damn fine plan, you mean," he says, and now he just sounds desperate.

Arthur's feeling that way himself. He can't resist picking fault with the plan, though. "A fine plan would have involved something softer for us to lie on."

Merlin grins, and the next thing Arthur knows, they're lying on a pile of furs, side by side now. "That good enough for your highness?"

"And some—" Arthur coughs, "—some oil."

Merlin looks puzzled for a moment, then his eyes go wide. "Oh, yes, of course," he gulps.

"We don't have to—" Arthur starts, but Merlin interrupts.

"I thought you wanted a great plan. Oil is a _great_ plan," Merlin says, and the next thing Arthur knows he has a bottle of oil in his hand. He'll give Merlin his due — he doesn't waste time when it really matters.

Of course nothing can go that smoothly, not with Merlin around. Arthur's just unstopping the bottle when Merlin jolts him and sends the oil spilling all over them.

"You dolt," Arthur says. He can't manage to remain annoyed, though, when Merlin rolls over on top of him and wow, with the oil, that feels fantastic. He grabs Merlin's arse and pulls him in closer, and Merlin wriggles around in his grasp and manages to scratch Arthur, but Arthur doesn't care because his prick is rubbing against Merlin's and there's a tingling sensation spreading through his body, hot and wonderful.

Merlin's face is right next to his, and Arthur kisses him, just experimentally, of course, not because he's been thinking about kissing Merlin. It's good enough that he keeps on, and Merlin's all open mouth and smooth limbs under his and when Arthur comes, Merlin kisses him once more, sweetly, and Arthur leans his forehead against Merlin's and it's—it's perfect.

*

"Told you you'd like my plan," Merlin says later, which is a cheek seeing as what just happened wasn't his plan at all.

Arthur's feeling sleepy, though, and there are enough furs to pile over them, and enough daylight left for them to stay here a while, so he contents himself with a muttered, "Oh, do shut up, Merlin."

_vi. fiddle-dee-dee_

Merlin steps back and takes a long look at his handiwork. He has to say, he's done an excellent job, considering he did it from memory. There's a lot to be said for the power of magic.

Arthur doesn't seem so pleased when he opens the door.

"What?" he screeches, and shuts the door rapidly. "What have you done with my portrait?"

It's a good thing Merlin knows he's all bark and no bite these days. "I thought you might like a reminder of Princess Marie. You were such a pretty girl," Merlin reminisces.

"I'll show you just how much of a girl I am," Arthur growls.

Merlin smiles to himself as Arthur pushes him onto the bed and starts pulling his britches down. Another excellent plan.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Tree, A Bee, A Flea, the Princess Marie [fanart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/772418) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone)




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